


two wrongs don't make a right (but baby lets have fun tonight)

by Catherines_Collections



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bonding Over Shared Trauma, Cisco Ramon Becomes Vibe, Eobard Thawne left a lasting mark on his creations, In a way, M/M, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, The Silent Rage of Cisco Ramon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 18:53:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherines_Collections/pseuds/Catherines_Collections
Summary: Hartley's anger is scorching where Cisco’s is frozen, and he thinks maybe that’s fitting..“We could burn this city to the ground,” Hartley offers, once.Cisco laughs, says, “And then we could freeze it all and start over again.”





	two wrongs don't make a right (but baby lets have fun tonight)

**Author's Note:**

> This was an old draft I refurbished, revised, edited, and extended. A lot. 
> 
> Anyway, after all the stuff Cisco has been through? Yeah, that boy’s not okay. So, here we are! With, I guess, more of a morally dubious undertone than originally intended. 
> 
> I also never thought I would write Hartley because I really didn’t like him at first lol. But here we are: both of them finding solidarity in each other. (Also I love Harry Wells, why do I keep writing him as a shady enemy? I do not even know.)
> 
> I own nothing, hope you enjoy!

There's something broken in him, twisted and torn and bleeding out through clenched teeth and forced smiles.  
  
It's something Cisco knows. 

Something he’s known from the first time he had a vision, ice cold and everything too dark and someone saying his name until he came through, mouth open in a silent scream and mind torn open.

The realization burnt through the cold atmosphere and he had to bury the urge to laugh beneath a shy smile as he reassured Barry he was fine.

Because he can't be anything other than alright. Not with the city nearly in shambles every night, Caitlyn always too close to the edge, Iris and Joe always there and so worried. Not with a hero in their midst already so tired and weighed down.

So he smiles and sucks it up, buries it down and lets the cold flames fester in his stomach, and works his mind in preparation for the repairs to be made on Barry’s suit.

He hadn’t even realized he had placed a hand over his heart until Caitlyn asked him if he was suffering chest pains.

He smiled told a fretting Caitlyn and poorly contained Barry, “I’m fine.”

And his chest only burnt a little when Caitlyn accepted the lie with her own smile.

.

The first time he visits Hartley, after the vision and the aftermath and trying so hard not to crack, he places his tray of food on the ground after he lowers the glass before turning back around to leave the way he came.

( _Just a little longer_ , his mind whispers, _a little longer, you can do it. Don't think about cold or dark or screaming_ -)

“It's happened then, hasn’t it?” Hartley says from behind him, and when Cisco’s brain unfreezes enough to function and think, he turns and stares at the smirking face obscured by a sheet of glass.

“What's happened?” Cisco asks, turning the question back around because there's no way Hartley has any clue of what's going on when Cisco has just figured it out himself.

But Hartley walks closer to sheet of glass separating them, and by the time he speaks he's almost lounging on it, easy smirk in place.

“Oh, Cisco,” Hartley purrs and they both hear how the words vibrate through his cage, and Cisco tampers down the goose bumps rising on his skin, “even I admit you are far too smart to play so dumb.”

It's like a bucket of cold water is sliding down his back, because it's impossible. There’s no way Hartley could know.

So he plasters on a smile - because it’s what he’s good at: its what he knows - and begins to walk backwards, away from the cells, waving with his fingers as he goes, “No idea what the hell you're talking about, bro. I think all that prison food is getting to your head.”

Hartley attempts a growl but it morphs into a dry laugh as he presses closer to the glass, and Cisco turns and walks out the basement door.

“Come back when you’re ready to talk about it,” Hartley shouts.

Cisco steps out the door, and keeps walking.

.

The first time he sees a trace of brokenness in Hartley it’s before he’s learned to see it in himself.

It’s when Eobard introduces them, a trusted coworker and chancy new hire, and Hartley smiles, nods at Well’s out of trained politeness, and squeezes Cisco’s hand too tight.

Wells turns for a moment and so does Hartley’s smile, fading into a distasteful sneer and nasty comment that instantly has Cisco’s mind running rampant for a retort but-

The facility is so white, and the light begins to burn his corneas, Wells still isn't paying them any mind, and Hartley’s hand begins to heat in his grip and his sneer widen with every second Cisco fails to respond. And it's not for lack of ideas but, on the contrary, far too many of them.

But he chokes them back. Because he needs this job. He needs this job and something in Hartley's eyes begins to resemble the hot and firm grip of his hand, and Wells finally turns back.

Hartley glances once more at Cisco, welds his sneer back into a world class smile and the raging fire in his eyes seem to settle back into their hiding spots in the iris, before turning towards Wells for a question about the latest project.

When Hartley leaves, Cisco has to remind himself to tune back into Well’s speech instead of picturing the barely contained fury held inside crystal blue eyes.

.

So, scratch that. He’s not alone.

Because he sees the same thing he sees in himself in Hartley.

The same broken look, the same twisted features, the same urge to keep moving and moving because staying still just makes you too much of an easy target.

He knows, now, after visions of loss and always too calculated risks and seeing them reflected from brown eyes into crystal blue.

There's something broken in both of them.

In how Hartley smirks too easily these days and the days after their initial meet, speaks too loudly, tries too hard to be confident: every part of him aching and longing to be seen, to be recognized.

In how Cisco knows he smiles too quickly, lets things fade until they fester and boil inside of him and come out through voices whispering in his head when it’s too dark outside to be awake, hands and mouth always moving, always hiding something hoping it just goes away, and a new retort and joke always on the tip of his tongue.

Because it’s not only something they see in themselves, but something they see in each other.

Cisco is very good at hiding.

Hartley, just seems to have a way of getting it all out of him.

.

“What the hell,” Cisco says.

The main room is empty except for him. Barry gone with Iris, Caitlyn at her apartment, and Harry on the other side of the lab.

He doesn't expect an answer, but it would still be nice to get one. He places his arms around his knees, ducks his head and closes his eyes, and reminds himself to breathe.

.

The visits continue, after that.

Sporadic but continuous. He doesn't let himself think what any of this could mean as he heads down below the labs.

He places a chair in front of the glass of Hartley's cell and turns up the mic volume.

“What do you know?” Cisco asks, keeps his face blank, watching as Hartley leans as close as the glass will let him.

Hartley _tsk_ , smiles, says, “You’re deflecting, Cisco. The real question is what don’t I know.”

His eye twitches, but he ignores it.

“What don’t you know then,” Cisco tries, watching as something in Hartley's eyes cracks and the look becomes a little too familiar.

“Not much,” Hartley answers, and suddenly the smile is back, brighter and more twisted than ever.

“What do you know about me,” Cisco tries, grits his teeth, pretending the room around them doesn’t grow a few degrees colder at the question.

Hartley's smile tilts.

“What do you want to know? About Reverb, and if he really is you and you him? About Harry, and Wells and Eobard and how you can never keep any of them straight in your head? Or is this about realizing how dangerous you might be? Because, wow, talk about a caged fury. Barry Allen has _nothing_ on you.”

Hartley laughs when Cisco freezes.

“You’re easy to read, you know. We’re a lot more alike than you want to acknowledge,” Hartley gestures between them both, still smiling, and it's infuriating and frustrating and something else Cisco won’t allow himself to name, “shared traumas and fucked up backstories.”

Hartley stiffens, sniffs, “The usual.”

“You’re insane,” Cisco says.

“And you’re here,” Hartley counters.

This time, it’s Cisco’s turn to laugh.

.

He doesn't tell anyone. About the visits with Hartley, the dreams, the buried anger and fury.

But of course, there really isn't anyone to tell.

.

He remembers the way Harry looked at him, after the realization - after being too cold for too long - shadowing Caitlin and Barry as they crowded him in concern, cold and examining and hard enough to have him throwing a sharp smile Harry's way when Barry and Caitlin became distracted.

He remembers the warm sense of pleasure that surged down his spine when Harry straightened, basically a jump when it comes to the Wells and looked away: not exactly ashamed, but with a pledge to be more careful with his examinations.

Because Harry isn’t Eobard, not the same man Cisco thought was willing to give him a chance, an opportunity, a place to build trust on and a person to bury it in, no.

He is not Eobard Thawne but he is not the same Harrison Wells this world once knew.

Harry is colder, darker, bitter. A voice with an almost permanent sardonic edge to it and a frozen type of fury evident in his every movement. Harry is not Eobard Thawne, but he is not Harrison Wells either, and that's an entirely different problem no one really seems to think about.

Cisco takes a breath, releases it. Tries not to think too much about the hand he doesn’t remember raising now covering his chest.

.

Cisco doesn’t tell them about the memories from other timelines, because too many questions and not enough answers and so many possibilities his head hurts thinking of them, but he remembers them as if it was in his timelines experience.

He hates remembering.

He doesn’t have to tell Hartley any of this, though, because he can tell from the scrunched corners of Hartley’s eyes when he mentions another alternate reality or the possibility of an upcoming battle going wrong, that he already knows.

It’s a comfort, in a way, he thinks. One he isn’t used to having.

.

”You dream of him too, then?” Hartley asks one day, and neither of them have to put a name to the man in question, because they both already know.

Cisco takes a breath, says, “How could I not?”

It’s silent between them as they let the words settle and sink.

They don’t talk about it again, after. But, for a second, it’s just enough.

.

Eventually, gradually, the glass goes up and Cisco comes in.

“About time,” Hartley mutters, a finger tilting Cisco’s chin up, smile in place, something hungry ringing through him.

When Hartley leans in, neither of them stop it.

.

Hartley's anger is scorching where Cisco’s is frozen, and he thinks maybe that’s fitting.

The balance between them is what keeps the city stable, after all.

(“We could burn this city to the ground,” Hartley offers, once.

Cisco laughs, says, “And then we could freeze it all and start over again.”

They laugh until Cisco’s ribs start to ache and Hartley’s eyes look a little less broken.)  
  
.

“Do you ever get tired of it? Of being the perfect sidekick, the ‘good guys’,” Hartley makes air quotes.

Cisco hums and leans closer, tries to forget today’s failed mission and Caitlyn’s disappointment, Barry’s misplaced anger, and anything having to do with Wells.

Instead he remembers Reverb and Eobard and every want to be villain they’ve ever met and their poor reasoning for becoming what they were.

Cisco shrugs, says, “We’re not good or bad. But we’re trying, and I think that has to count for something.”

Hartley scoffs and turns away.

“Yeah, keep telling yourselves that, but this,” Hartley gestures to the cells and the basement and the prison, says, “this, is not what the good guys do. And you’re going to have to pick sometime, Cisco.”

Hartley smiles, pulls him closer, says, “And I’ll be right here, for when you make the right choice.”

.

“They aren't worth it, Cisco,” Eobard sneers, hands and arms moving up and down and the room around them too quiet and still, and absently Cisco wonders if anyone will be looking for him or if he is going to die in here with the man who has been impersonating his idol for as long as he's known him.

“Barry Allen, Caitlin Snow, Iris West,” Eobard cracks a bitter laugh and Cisco stumbles back as his body begins to vibrate, “none of them are worth what they’ll take from you: worth what they will do to you to stay the heroes. The ‘good guys’, righteous saviors and all.”

He leans forward, and Cisco can feel the cold wall against his back and Eobard’s hot breath on his face.

“I would make you an offer, Cisco, would say that you could come with me. God knows your skills and talent is extraordinary and never mind helpful, but,” Eobard sighs and moves closer and Cisco feels something vibrating.

It takes him a moment to realize it’s Eobard’s hand, and even longer to realize that it has been shoved through his chest.

He chokes and Eobard smiles.

“I would make you an offer, Cisco,” he says and _twists_ and suddenly the world is dark and numb _,_ and he hears with static all around, “but we both know you're too wrapped around their fingers to know what’s actually good for you.”

When he wakes, it’s with a silent scream and something burning in his blood.

.

“Oh, in a rush today are we.” Hartley smirks, rising when Cisco lowers the barrier and marches in.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Cisco sneers, pushing Hartley up against the wall, mouth an inch away from his, warm breath ghosting his lips, “it’s just this once.”

Hartley laughs, hot air and cold eyes and he’s still not close enough so Cisco leans further into him, mouth hungry and searching, and even though Hartley tries to hide it, Cisco can see the desperation in his eyes, even if he’s still wearing the smirk.

“Oh, darling,” Hartley coos, pushing himself up against Cisco, finished with playing down how badly he wants this, “isn’t that what you said last time?”

When Cisco surges forward he makes sure to swallow every bit of Hartley’s laughter.

.

He lets Hartley bite his lips until they are bruise, lets him suck and nip at the until they are swollen and nearly numb.

Because it makes it all feel real. It serves as a reminder that this is real, this is his timeline, and his world, and he’ll fill it with his own mistakes instead of living in the sins of his other timeline selves.

Ironically, it's when he’s let Hartley back him against a wall and invade his mouth that he feels the most alive he has since he saw himself die.

.

In one timeline, Earth-2, because Harry can’t seem to do his job and Barry always needs some form of assistance, he runs across another version of himself.

Reverb, Cisco knows before he’s even been told.

(Cisco’s already had enough visions to know him inside and out.)

He’s dark and lost and powerful and possibly everything he could have been if Eobard had known about his power and offered him a deal. He says his name is Reverb and he says it like it means something, like Cisco should be cowering and begging for mercy for being in his presence alone.

“I’m everything you are going to be.” Reverb says, and his smile is all wrong: too cocky and strong and sickly wide. It reminds him of Hartley’s, of being caged too long even without the glass.

Cisco feels his own smile rising because this is where he is wrong. Where they are all wrong.

“No,” he starts, allowing his own smile to claim his face, because this is something he can control. He has fire burning through his veins where blood should be, and too much blue in the corner of his eyes, “you’re not.”

Reverb gnashes his teeth and throws him into a wall, Barry and Iris and others following suit, but it doesn’t break Cisco’s smile.

.

He doesn’t see Hartley's double on Earth-2, but Cisco still wonders.

(He hopes he made it right this time, hopes ignorant people don’t destroy Hartley’s world and then bring it upon them for Hartley to destroy theirs.)

He isn’t sure if it would be better or worse: meeting Hartley’s double and seeing what could have been.

It’s hard enough with himself. He doesn't want to imagine what it must be like with others.

(He wonders what Reverb would have done if he’d met Hartley, what Hartley would have said in his place.)

He doesn’t let himself think about it too much.

.

One day, Cisco opens the glass door and doesn’t close it behind him.

Hartley’s sat in the corner, and raises an eyebrow.

“Good or bad?” He asks, and Cisco smiles.

Cisco shrugs, says, “I’ve never been too much of a fan of either.”

“Somewhere in between, then,” Hartley offers, standing and walking towards Cisco. Leaving the glass coffin behind them.

“Somewhere in between,” Cisco agrees, something other than fire warming his chest, smiling when Hartley laughs.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and Kudos are much appreciated and I’m rhymesofblue on tumblr if you want to talk about the lovely secretly raging man that is Cisco Ramon!


End file.
